


Isabelle Wheeler

by thinkwinkink



Series: When Call The Children [2]
Category: When Calls the Heart (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 18:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkwinkink/pseuds/thinkwinkink
Summary: Set at the Miners' Dance, s1e5.A teenage girl with a bit of a fascination with Mountie Jack wonders what's the matter.





	Isabelle Wheeler

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it would be cute to do a set of little pieces where kids in the town observe little parts of a relationship, and voilà.

Isabelle drew back behind her sister, trying to be discreet as she watched him.

“He looks kind of upset,” she noted. 

“Maybe he's annoyed he has to wear his uniform,” Nancy said mildly, not bothering to look at the policeman for herself.

The dance was in full swing; lamps glowed cheerily and paper chains swung slightly as women skipped around their dance partners in a lively dance. The music was infectious and the catering delightful. The fact that Constable Thornton seemed out of spirits as he passively watched the proceedings stood out like a sore thumb. If, that is, your name was Isabelle Wheeler, you were nearly fourteen years old, and had been mildly obsessed with that thumb for weeks now. 

“Do you think?” Isabelle said, ducking behind again Nancy as she shifted her weight. “Maybe something is wrong. Bandits? Cowboys? Those women who hang around and tempt men away from their wives and their work?”

Nancy looked decidedly unimpressed, casting a look of disdain at her younger sister. “Maybe the snake bit him,” she suggested flatly. 

“Really?” Isabelle gasped. 

“Maybe he caught his finger in a door,” Nancy shrugged, eyes on the dancing couples. 

“It was awfully brave of him to catch it like that, don't you think?” Isabelle gushed, apparently unperturbed by the older girl’so disinterest in the topic.

“Hm.”

“He could have gotten hurt,” Isabelle continued.

“It wasn't poisonous,” Nancy sighed. 

“I'm sure it's no fun being bitten by a snake whether or not it can kill you, Nancy,” she pointed out. 

“Mm.”

“He was so confident, just picking it up so surely…”

“They probably teach them to do that at the academy,” Nancy groaned, well and truly tired of the conversation. “I'm sure he's dropped a few snakes in his time.”

“Then there's no way he let it bite him. Maybe he just wishes he could dance,” Isabelle mused.

That, finally, seemed to get Nancy’s full attention. 

“What an excellent idea,” she said excitedly. “He's probably feeling left out, especially since he's still new in town.”

“Do you really think that's it?”

“Oh, definitely,” Nancy nodded sagely. “You should ask him to dance with you.”

“Me?” Isabelle hissed. “No, I can't do that!”

“Why not?” she blinked innocently. “Look, he's lonely. Go on.”

When she just frantically shook her head, Nancy rolled her eyes, darting around her and giving her a shove. She went stumbling several steps, bringing her close to Mountie Jack. 

She froze, staring dumbly. 

He glanced her way, gracing her with an inquisitive little smile and a cock of his head. 

“Miss… Wheeler, right?” he asked. “You alright?”

“Uh, yes, sir,” she stammered. He gave her a slightly odd look, as though he knew she was floundering and didn't want to point it out. It was so hard to speak to him with those big doe eyes staring down at her, long eyelashes catching the homey light, casting thin little shadows on the noble planes of his face. 

“Um, I was just wondering… that is, my sister told me I should ask you…” she nearly lost her nerve, but he nodded seriously for her to go on. “If you want to dance.”

He blinked. He opened his mouth and frowned, but said nothing. Then, a wide smile that transformed his whole face and revealed perfect teeth overcame him. 

“You're asking me to dance?” he clarified. 

She couldn't speak, pinned by that look, something utterly charming dancing in his eyes. 

She settled for blushing and nodding. 

“I’d love to,” he said, expression dimming to a more formal look as he held out a hand. 

Isabelle gave him her own, and he led her into the central space cleared for dancing. 

Her face flamed as she tentatively rested her fingertips on his shoulder, brushing on the gleaming gold of the button and thick wool of the navy blue epaulette. 

He placed his hand high on her shoulder blade rather than at her waist - even if he wanted to, it probably would have been uncomfortable with their difference in height. 

With a crooked smile of encouragement, he began leading her through a basic set of steps with a lively pace to keep with the music. 

At first she fumbled as she tried to keep up, but soon enough she found the rhythm. 

“There you go, Miss Wheeler,” he commended. “You’re a natural.”

She smiled back. 

They didn't dance all that long before the song ended. 

“Think you could give me one more dance?" he asked, a conspiratorial look in his eye. 

Isabelle nodded freely, and they started up again with the music. 

He made a few comments, asked her a few things, while they danced, and she found she liked him less because he was handsome, and more because he was kind and witty.

“Constable Thornton?” she said after a while, pulling his attention back down to her. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” he frowned. “Why would you ask that?”

“You keep looking at Miss Thatcher and that man she's with, and you don't look happy,” she said shyly. 

He let out a huff, looking down, then over her head, then off to the side. Finally he met her gaze.

“Don't you ever worry about your friends?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes,” she answered solemnly. His expression became speculative. 

“And what do you do, when you're worried about them?” he asked softly.

“I tell them I'm worried,” she said simply. “I ask them if they're worried, too.”

“And if they're not?”

“Then you just wait until they are, and then you ask them again,” she shrugged. He looked thoughtful. She admired the way his jaw stuck out prettily when he craned his neck to look at Miss Thatcher again, laughing at something one of the new miners was saying. 

“Thank you, Isabelle,” he said, peering at her earnestly. “You are wise beyond your years.”

She beamed up at him. 

When the dance finished, he escorted her off the floor, and laughed at her jaunty curtsy before she ran off to find Nancy. 

As she half-listened to her sister talk to Abigail Stanton about something to do with ironing and lace, she kept an eye on Constable Thornton and Miss Thatcher. 

He made conversation, sipped on water and surveyed the room. And of course, he watched her more than anyone else. 

Miss Thatcher seemed interested in the miner, with his fancy suit and gold pocket watch, but she pulled away to speak to other people every now and then. She never spoke to Mountie Jack, but when someone else was speaking, her eyes would drift away, over the room until she found him. She watched him, too, but seemed to try harder to stop. 

Isabelle wondered if she was worried about him, too. In the end, though, she couldn't ask her teacher that. There was really only one person who could. 


End file.
